Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
He emerges, all glower and growl in his midnight blue suit and icy eyes.
I freeze, momentarily stunned by the sight of Lake in the perfect shade for him. The pants hug his strong thighs. The white dress shirt stretches deliciously across his firm pecs. The jacket kisses his muscular arms.
He smooths a hand down the lapels, then adjusts the jacket, and I somehow regain the power of movement. I finish applying the color right as he meets my gaze.
His lips form a ruler. His hands tighten into fists. His irises are locked on my mouth. A low, barely audible rumble seems to escape his lips, and when the sound stops, neither one of us says a word. We both just stare. He’s a tiger, and I’m waiting for him to pounce.
All the questions that haunted me are answered.
The man wants me. And I want him.
Except, I don’t want to be pounced on. I want to be in control. I cap the lipstick tube, set it in the pocket of my sweatpants, and tilt my head. “All you need is a tie.”
He nods toward me, commanding, authoritative. “Pick one for me.”
I stride into the closet again, tossing him a flirty glance as I make my way to the tie rack, flicking through the options quickly, powered by this fresh rush of confidence, before I settle on a silvery number. “It’ll provide a nice contrast to the blue of the suit,” I say, but I sound breathy, like my mind is elsewhere.
Because it is.
He moves behind me, the fabric of his slacks swishing with each step before he stops. “But how will it go with your maid of honor dress? Or should I wear a black tie?” he asks, far too casual, reaching past me for a plain, simple black silk tie. He grabs it and holds it up, dangling it in front of me.
Like a taunt. Like he’s the one in control of the color choices. It’s a good choice he’s making though—lush and dark and seductive.
“That’s better,” I say, then turn around so I can fully face him. I take the neckwear from him, taking back the moment too. I toss it around his neck, adjusting the ends as my fingertips brush briefly against his shirt.
My whole body is lit up. Every cell, every molecule is shimmying.
I’m contemplating tying the tie but Lake’s staring so hard at my mouth, and he’s so shameless about it I’m not sure if there’s any point in completing the knot.
“Your lips,” he rasps out.
The heat in his eyes tells me everything I’ve ever needed to know about these last few weeks with him.
The flames in them feed me.
The spark leads me on.
There are too many reasons why this is a bad idea. My breakup is too fresh. His hurts run too deep. We work together. I’m friends with his sister. I can’t risk the wedding, or my sister’s brand deal, or anything.
I shouldn’t cross another line. I know—and I ought to know better than anyone that now is a time for overthinking—but no one has ever looked at my mouth like that.
I’m so tired of thinking. I’d rather do. “I guess we should try the real lipstick test.”
27
THE SIXTH LESSON OF NAP DATES
REMY
He groans, tossing his head back briefly. It’s enough of a pause for me to do something else daring. I drop to my knees. When he lowers his gaze, his eyes flare.
“Remy,” he warns. But he sets a hand on my shoulder, asking, “You sure?”
I lick my lips first, the tip of my tongue sliding across them. “Do I look unsure?” I counter as I shrug my right shoulder, shaking the sweatshirt fabric down farther, exposing my collarbone.
And his weakness. He lets out another groan. This one is more resigned.
“No,” he says, the sound of a man giving in. “You don’t look a damn bit unsure.”
I slide my hands up his legs, along his thick thighs, toward the zipper.
His right hand curls around my shoulder, the left running gently through my hair as my fingers reach for the button. I undo the button and Lake closes his eyes, like this is all too much. Good. I want him to be overwhelmed. He’s overwhelmed me in the best of ways. It’s my turn to show him I’m not just a taker.
That I can give.
I slide down the zipper. A naughty grin tugs at my lips as I think of him last night zipping up my dress, and now I’m doing the opposite.
When it’s undone I push the fabric of his tailored slacks open, exposing tight black boxer briefs that leave little to the imagination. Lake’s hard-on strains against the material, an ambitious erection that’s making all its wishes known. The best part? The wet spot at the top of the cotton.
A wild pulse beats between my thighs as I stare at that revealing little spot. The evidence I need. I nibble on the corner of my lips, then peel his briefs down.